


Three-Part Harmony

by MarsDragon



Category: Castlevania 白夜の協奏曲 | Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance
Genre: Frottage, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsDragon/pseuds/MarsDragon
Summary: "I..." Juste's fingers trailed over the Vampire Killer by habit, the braided leather as familiar as his own skin. It was a weapon of war, meant to strike down evil. Not his friend. Not Maxim.But if this would solve Maxim's despondency...if this would give an ending to the entire incident and let them live on in peace...





	Three-Part Harmony

"No. Absolutely not. I will not consider this further." 

"Juste..." Maxim did not snap or fight; just looked at Juste with the sorrowful eyes he was so sick of seeing on his best friend. 

"It is unnecessary," Juste said, trying to explain. "You threw off Dracula's influence in the castle, that's more than enough for me. The castle is gone. We are all safe. Can't that be the end of it?"

Maxim's expression did not change. "No. Not for me. I cannot forget what I did, what I tried to do to you and Lydie-"

"Not you!" Juste's hands twitched, and he laid them on the side table for fear of what he'd do otherwise. "That was Dracula, and he is once more dead." He paused, trying to arrange his thoughts in a way that could reach Maxim, make him understand. "It is in the past. No...sometimes I wonder if it happened at all. Lydie believes it to be merely a dream, and the more time passes, the more I agree with her." 

Traversing the castle had been dreamlike even as he had done it. Endless hallways, sometimes full of delicate, refined artwork he admired, sometimes full of horrific paintings he shied away from. A multitude of doors that unlocked only by strange items that arrived and disappeared at their will. Light that changed from cool blue to searing red from one room to the next, eight-legged skeletons, a pair of castles the same and different...it truly felt as if he merely dreamed it all. Perhaps all of them had fallen to some feverish madness, some remnant of the curse Grandfather Simon had banished. It was a simple explanation, easy to believe in the bright light of day.

"It was not a dream, Juste."

"But can we not put it behind us as a dream?" Juste felt as if he were pleading for a favor that would not come. "Can we at least not agree to that?"

Something changed in Maxim's expression, and Juste felt he was watching what he had done earlier: trying to arrange thoughts in a way to make the other understand. In time Maxim looked away, focusing his gaze on the darkening forest outside. "Do you remember when we were children, and we went into the forest after that rainstorm?"

"I do." Maxim's parents had warned them away, fearing the earth was loose after the soaking it had received. He, Maxim, and Lydie had taken that as a challenge. "You and I slipped from the mountain path and were only saved from breaking our necks by clinging to that fallen tree while Lydie ran to get help." He and Maxim had waited there for what had felt like hours while holding to the thin, slick branches, feeling the earth shift beneath them, the tree slide ever further down the muddy slope they were on. They had started with joking to keep their spirits up, but in time even that failed and they had waited in mute, terrified silence. 

"When we were rescued Father didn't even bother to reprimand us. He said we had learnt our lesson."

"And we had." They had all given the trail a wide berth after that, and treated rain and mud with more respect.

"Yes, but Juste..." Maxim sounded as if he were the one pleading now, "it didn't feel right, did it? That we should have gotten off so lightly?"

"Well..."

"Even Lydie barely got a swat. And because of that...it felt as if we never did our penance. It was an unshriven sin."

"Father Matthew had me pray the rosary an extra five times that week," Juste said, but in his heart he agreed with Maxim. They had gotten off too easily. It felt an unspoken wound between them and the adults, even now. He would have felt better being punished directly. 

It was an unpleasant twist in his stomach to realise he understood what Maxim was saying. 

Maxim nodded, his gaze once more on Juste, open and sincere. "That's why. Let us put this behind us, Juste. And I would chose no one but you to do it."

"I..." Juste's fingers trailed over the Vampire Killer by habit, the braided leather as familiar as his own skin. It was a weapon of war, meant to strike down evil. Not his friend. Not Maxim. 

But if this would solve Maxim's despondency...if this would give an ending to the entire incident and let them live on in peace...

It was with a miserable, uncertain feeling in his stomach that Juste said: "Very well. Five lashes."

"Thirty."

"What? No! That's far too many."

Maxim's face remained stubbornly set. "And five is far too few."

But Juste knew how to be stubborn as well. He crossed his arms and stood still as deliberately as possible, until Maxim sighed and revised. "Twenty, if you are going to be bullheaded about it."

"Ten," Juste bit out, more in the name of compromise and ending this than anything else. 

"Juste, if this is to be a proper punishment-"

"This is a heavy whip," Juste said, rubbing the Vampire Killer again. Did it stir to wakefulness under his hand, or was that his imagination? "It is made for killing monsters. Not for hurting good men."

Maxim's face twisted at that, but he said nothing. Finally, after a long pause, he nodded assent.

The miserable feeling still roiling in his gut, Juste looked around the small, heavily decorated sitting room. It would perhaps be easier to go outside, but if they did Lydie might see, and Juste did not want to have to explain this to her. The only option was a small loveseat, in front of which there was barely enough room to swing his whip if they moved the low table in front out of the way, and if he kept mind of the shelf full of knick-knacks on the backswing.

Maxim helped Juste rearrange the furniture in silence, and divested his stiff leather coat and swordbelt in equal silence. The only thing he said as he leaned over the loveseat, arms braced and feet steady, was: "Don't hold back."

Juste made no reply. He uncoiled the holy whip from his side, felt it stir with a slightly confused feeling, like a man told he must go back to the fields after the harvest had been brought in, and hesitated. He had not held back in the castle. He had struck at Maxim with all his strength, fighting for his and Lydie's very lives. 

But this was not Dracula's castle, and the man before him was his old friend instead of his ancestral enemy, and it was painful to think of the strong, tanned back in front of him covered with brutal welts. 

He set his feet, drew his arm back, and struck as lightly as he could. 

Maxim rocked forward slightly as a dusky pink line emerged on his shoulder, but he didn't cry out and his voice was flat when he said: "We trained together, Juste. I know you're stronger than that."

Juste frowned and tightened his grip on the whip's handle. There was no fooling Maxim. He struck again in the same spot, harder but still not at full strength. Maxim gave a sharp hiss, and this time he had no complaints. 

Another strike next to the first, another over Maxim's spine. Each left broad, raised welts in their wake that made Juste's back ache with remembered pain. But Maxim made no movement, no noise.

The fourth was harder than Juste had meant and he hated himself for it even before the blood began to trickle. He stopped, wondering if he should speak up, bring them both to their senses and end it here, when Maxim spoke again. His voice was steady, though Juste could hear the slight edge of pain in it. "Don't stop there. Finish this properly."

The words came hard, but they came. "I won't," he said, and raised the Vampire Killer again. The whip's aura was nothing but confusion and irritation at being put to this ill-use, but all he could do was stroke it in apology as he struck for the fifth time.

Five stripes across Maxim's shoulders. Juste took aim just below the neat row of marks and raised his arm again. Five more, this would all be over. They could go back to how they had been. 

"Juste, stop! _Stop!_ "

It was only honed reflexes that saved Juste from falling over when someone collided with him, grabbing his arm and forcing it down. He didn't need to look to confirm it was Lydie holding onto him, face shining with worry - worry laced with real fear. This was exactly what he had hoped to avoid. 

"What's going on? Why are you hurting Maxim like that?" she demanded, still refusing to let go of his arm. "Stop this at once!"

It was with a deep sense of relief that Juste relaxed his arm and loosened his grasp on the whip. "Of course," he said. "This is all-"

"No. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop, Juste!"

"Maxim!" Lydie cried, turning towards him with concern etched across her face, "What are you saying? You can't mean that!"

Maxim's back was still to them, his head bowed, but his shoulders were tense with determination. "I mean it, Lydie. I asked for this. I'll see it through."

Lydie left Juste's side and rushed to Maxim, grasping his face in her small hands and forcing him to look at her. "What do you mean, that you asked for this? Is this...is it some sort of training?" 

Juste was tempted to answer 'yes' to that. He had never told the truth of the castle to Lydie, and though Maxim disagreed with his logic, he hadn't told her either. But he couldn't think of any sort of training that would involve a whipping.

From the way Maxim paused, he couldn't think of an explanation either. He twisted away from Lydie's hands, shoulders still tense, and finally said: "I...wished to do penance. On my journey..."

"Then confess to Father Matthew!" Lydie drew Maxim's face back toward her. "There's no reason for all of this."

It was true that was the proper thing to do. He would certainly not judge; to become a priest here required a certain amount of...understanding. 

But this was for Maxim's mind, not his soul. And though Juste wanted to let Lydie convince them both to stop, if it did not heal the wound Dracula had left on his dear friend's heart, what good would it do? And so Juste found himself speaking up, offering excuses to continue the hated work. 

"Maxim told me that in his journey he was possessed," he said, edging as close to the truth as he dared. "And though he cast out the demon and defeated it, he wanted the holy whip to make sure it was gone. That's why."

Maxim cast a sharp look over his shoulder at that, the first he'd looked at Juste since the beginning. Luckily, it only seemed to convince Lydie that the equivocation was fact, the slight impatience in her expression giving way to deeper concern. "How terrible," she breathed, brushing her fingers through Maxim's hair. "If...if you believe that to be required, then I cannot stand in your way. But let me stay here, with you. I won't let you do this alone." 

Both Juste and Maxim raised voice in protest, but Lydie simply settled herself on the loveseat and drew Maxim's head close to her breast, curling her arms around him protectively. Juste watched him shudder and tense in her embrace, then, slowly, rested his head against her chest. 

Lydie met Juste's eyes and though he could still see disapproval in their depths, she nodded in the same sad resignation that twisted his own heart. 

Just five more. Juste raised his arm, took aim, and struck. Then again, and Maxim's back was lower this time. Juste paid it no mind, simply focused on that strong, broad back, the vicious welts, and laid another right down Maxim's spine. 

A sharp breath from Lydie made him look up from his grim work. She leaned over Maxim, his head now cradled in her lap. Looking at them like that, Maxim clinging to Lydie's waist, her body curled as if to protect him, twisted Juste's stomach even further. 

In the castle, there had been a monster. It had resembled Grandfather Simon, a mad, grinning skeleton in the traditional Belmont armor, wisps of hair still clinging to its desiccated skull. It fought with unholy strength, lashing out with a whip made of bone and bloody sinew. Juste had only fought them when he could not run, and every victory cost him dearly. 

He felt as if he were that monster now.

It made him hesitate, so close to the end. Maxim needed him, he knew that, but...but...

Maxim's head was pressed to Lydie's knee, where Juste could hear fragments of whispered apologies spill from his lips. He watched Maxim press a kiss to Lydie's stockinged knee, soft and reverent, and continued to watch as Lydie slowly, delicately raised her skirts above her thighs. Maxim hesitated there, digging his hands into the edge of the loveseat before shifting and pressing another gentle kiss to her bare thigh. 

"You ought to apologize to Lydie first." Juste recalled saying so, before he himself had made apologies unnecessary. But Maxim had never agreed with that, and now he trailed his apology up Lydie's leg. Juste could only watch as Lydie guided Maxim further, heart hammering in a numb chest.

This...was not just an apology.

He had a duty, had to fulfill his promise.

He felt frozen, as if once more trapped in a dream, though one much sweeter than the nightmare castle.

Lydie raised her head, a high blush on her cheeks and a soft smile on her lips. "Juste..." she breathed, and it sounded plaintive and inviting at the same time. Maxim said nothing, his head still pressed to Lydie's leg, but there was a desperate tension to his shoulders where the muscles bunched and pulled under the harsh welts.

The trickle of blood from the especially painful one had run far down his back.

No longer thinking, only trusting his instincts to guide him, Juste let the Vampire Killer fall from his slack hand. The holy whip's aura had shifted to some sort of exasperation mixed with encouragement, though he did not need it. All he needed was to drop to his knees and lap at that thin line of blood, a desperate attempt to kiss away his friend's pain. 

Maxim's skin was smooth there, the thin sheen of sweat salty on Juste's tongue. He licked his way up to the brutal marks he had left and kissed them as well, as soft and gentle as he could manage. The skin was thin, delicate in a way he didn't associate with Maxim at all, and the idea twisted his gut even as he traced the welt’s edges with his tongue. 

Maxim shuddered under him, shifted as if he wanted to get away - but Juste knew his friend's body, knew it almost as intimately as his own. He read nervousness in the jumping muscle below Maxim's ribs, guilt in the arched spine, and relief in the slope of his shoulders. Juste wrapped his arms around Maxim and drew as close as he could, wanting to still that jerky nervousness, that heavy guilt. 

He heard Maxim's rough breathing, a few shaking words. "Juste-" He hesitated, fingers twisted into Lydie's skirts. He pulled away from her, only to press back against Juste's chest. "We shouldn't. This is...we shouldn't."

"Why not?" Lydie asked, combing her fingers through his thick hair. "I like this better than watching you suffer. And I don't think a demon could kiss so sweetly."

Maxim stiffened, and Juste could see a blush written across his cheeks when he turned away. "It is..." Maxim started, but trailed off. 

They could all feel it. For Juste it felt like taking up the Vampire Killer, like stepping across the castle gates, like raising cross and whip against Dracula. If they did this, if they came together as more than childhood friends, all of them would be irrecoverably changed. There was joy and terror both in that promise.

A small part of Juste did worry what the villagers or his ancestors would say, but he could not bring the greater part of himself to care. Not when this brought such lovely smiles to Lydie's face. Not when this eased the guilt etched into Maxim's back. 

He'd let go if Maxim wished it. But Maxim stayed there, caught between them, and Juste could feel a mirror of his own hesitation. He pressed his face to Maxim's soft hair, breathing in the thick scent. "Don't leave us again," he whispered, and Maxim shuddered.

"Maxim..." Lydie's voice was soft. "Please? The demon is gone now, yes? Then...I would like us to be together again. All of us." 

Maxim took breath as if to speak, paused, and finally bowed his head. Lydie curled her fingers in his hair and drew him closer even as Juste pressed endless kisses across his shoulders. Maxim tensed and Juste feared he would run from them again, but he simply leaned forward into Lydie's lap.

Juste's magic was made for war. The gift of the Belnades clan was in fire and ice, storm and thunder. Healing magic would be ever beyond him. And usually it did not bother him overmuch, but now he would trade every secret for one that would erase the marks on Maxim's back, the scars on his heart. 

But few knew those secrets, and none of Juste's words had so far been able to reach Maxim. So he spoke with his hands instead, trying to impress his feelings on Maxim's skin. I never blamed you, you already overcame this trial with your own strength, please, just stay here with us.

There was a sharp gasp above him and Juste looked up to see Maxim all the way between Lydie's thighs, face pressed to soft golden curls and fingers wrapped tight around her legs. Lydie was still curled around him, one hand tangled in his hair, but the fear and sorrow was gone from her expression, replaced with pleasure on the edge of desperation. Her eyelids fluttered, her cheeks flushed, her lips wet as she whispered words of affection and guidance to Maxim, and Juste only wished he could be a spirit and see Maxim's face as well, so he might enjoy both their beauty at the same time. 

Lydie suddenly looked at him, and for a short moment Juste feared she would try to send him away, but her smile was soft and dreamy as she called to him. He reached for her, still acting on instinct, and their lips came together such that he could feel every tremor, every shaking breath Maxim drew from her body. He tasted her lips, her mouth, and did not believe it possible that any could be so sweet. 

His cock was achingly hard in his breeches, and grinding against Maxim offered only the faintest relief. His hands traced down Maxim's chest, dipped just slightly below his sash, and it was a joy to hear Maxim's breath catch as he undid the tightly wrapped cloth. 

Juste reached to grasp Maxim's cock through the stiff fabric, only to find Lydie's foot already there, rubbing the tips of her toes against the head. She smiled wide at him as he slowly opened Maxim's breeches for her, and it was pure pleasure to smile back. Her stockinged toes couldn't reach very far along Maxim's length, but it wasn't long before the teasing forced his head up with a desperate cry of "Lydie, _please!_ "

Lydie just giggled, a sound Juste had not heard for years. He stroked her foot, following it down to grasp Maxim's prick himself, the hot flesh he'd seen so often and never allowed himself to even wish to touch. 

But he touched it now, and ah, it was wonderful. To both feel the rough slide of smooth skin past his whip-calloused hands and to hear Maxim's harsh, pleased gasps was more than he had dreamed. He leaned down to kiss every single one of Maxim's welts again, tasting salt on the clean skin, as his other hand freed his own painfully hard cock from his breeches. It was sweet relief to have nothing between himself and Maxim anymore, to be able to rub his cock against the soft skin of Maxim's thighs. 

Lydie had drawn Maxim's head down again, only to have him lift her leg over his shoulder to bury his head as deep between her legs as it would go, to her surprised and delighted cries. Juste took the opportunity to press his own kisses against her knee, the edge of her stockings, anything he could reach. 

Her fingers brushed his hair before falling away, and Juste could only watch as Lydie's entire body stiffened and her face froze in a moment of shocked joy. She was more beautiful than Juste had ever seen her before, in that moment.

Maxim shuddered beneath him and Juste could tell he was close too, from the trembling tension in his shoulders to the way his cock twitched in Juste's hand. He was more than happy to stroke faster, rubbing his thumb over the head and grinding against Maxim from behind. It was rough, with short, dry strokes, but the edge of pain was little against the sharp, electric pleasure of touching and being touched. His heart was pounding, his blood burned, his entire body thrummed with a tension so much sweeter than battle. 

He wasn't sure if he or Maxim finished first, only that Maxim shook off Lydie's attempts to raise his face to hers and hid against her leg as he spilled all over Juste's hand. 

Juste settled himself more comfortably in the aftermath. He felt he should feel something other than a tired satisfaction, but was not sure what. He had no regrets. His only real concern was finding some salve for Maxim's hurts, but he'd given Maxim far worse every day of their training. They could relax for a bit.

In front of Juste, Maxim sank away from Lydie. He still did not look up.

Lydie grasped his hair firmly and slid off the loveseat to give him a long, deep kiss. She slipped out her tongue and licked her wetness away from his lips, and when she pulled away she was flushed, laughing, and lovely. "There," she said with satisfaction, "I cannot believe there is still a demon inside of you."

"Of course not," Juste agreed, and threw an arm around Maxim's shoulder to draw him into his own kiss. Maxim's lips were rough and a bit chapped, but he only slightly hesitated to let Juste taste the inside of his mouth. Juste could not quite describe how it was to taste both his dear friends at once, only that he felt light and airy in a way he was sure he he had not known before. 

He pulled away with a grin from when they all were children and added: "Let's call that your punishment...for leaving in the first place."

"That's not-" Maxim gave a strange half-laugh, and his face seemed to war between the familiar matching grin and the new look of despair. The familiar grin won. "That does not count, surely!"

"Then we'll do it again," Juste said, "But this time Lydie and I will switch places."

"Yes!" Lydie laughed and threw her arms around both of them. "I would like that - and if that is not enough, then-"

"Enough!" Maxim snapped before dissolving into a laugh of his own. "Can I not have a rest first? You're worse than the demon, both of you!"


End file.
